


Journeyman

by sparrow2000



Category: BtVS - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander's leaving Africa</p>
            </blockquote>





	Journeyman

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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Title: Journeyman  
Fandom: BTVS  
Characters: Xander  
Warnings: None  
Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et al, own all. I own nothing.  
Word count: 1300 approx  
Beta extraordinaire: [](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://thismaz.livejournal.com/)**thismaz**  
Status: Complete

  
Journeyman

He's due to get the plane home this evening. One twelve hour flight, and just a two hour time shift, and he'll be home. The facts were in the note, with the plane ticket. That's all that was waiting for him - just the plane ticket and the note. Telling him he was missed. Telling him he was needed. Telling him to change his plans. Twelve hours to home, is really twelve hours to London. But home is where your family is. So it's twelve hours to home. Just a two hour time shift.

It's kind of fitting, to leave Africa from Cape Town. He remembers so clearly when he landed for the first time. When he first smelled the air and realised how far from home he really was. He's travelled so far in the last four years, but he realises that the first scent is still in his head, even now. The nuances and the flavours changed from place to place, but the base note is constant. It's soaked into his skin and he thinks it will never really fade away.

He's fallen for Africa. He knows that. It gave him something, at a time when he thought there was nothing left to find, and it's torn him apart and healed him. Four years of wandering. Four years of collecting stories and legends and fevers and Slayers. Four years of loneliness. Four years of peace. Four years of falling in love. He loves his family completely, but he suspects they would never understand. They'd see the dust and the flies and the hunger and the hurt. And they'd be right. And they wouldn't stay long enough to see the friendship and the joy and the beauty and the sheer bloody-mindedness of survival. That's what he loves about Africa. Seeing the beauty, but acknowledging the corruption underneath. Seeing the decay and recognising the beauty struggling to come out.

And now it's time to go home. Time to close this chapter. Time to turn the page. And here in Cape Town he feels like he's come full circle, and he feels at peace. On the long drive back to the coast, he'd promised himself one last ritual before he left. One last bow to Africa. And he'd stood in the queue with the tourists marvelling at the sculptures and the photo montages, and he'd bought his ticket. And he'd waited in line and waited for the ferry. He'd made the journey once before, but he hadn't understood. So he'd stood in line and waited to pay his respects.

Now he sits near the stern of the ferry; watching the mainland slip away, and it's like the opening of a movie. Prosperous city nestling against ancient rock - Table Mountain stands in relief against a saturated sky, like a Hollywood set. And the Lions Head towers over the wealthy suburbs, threatening and protecting. It's another contradiction - another facet of Africa. He remembers sitting in a cafe in Camps Bay, watching the sun set and feeling out of place in his travel worn clothes and his battered eye patch. He didn't belong with these beautiful people, sipping their Sundowners and watching the world go by. But he'd sat there and listened to the old guard give him pointers, and nodded in the right place. They really had no idea about Africa. They didn't want to know. He smiles to himself and shakes his head at his own early naivety. He too saw things in straight lines and blocks of colour, but now after four years he realises that the continent, like people, is far more complex than a simple world of 'have and have not'. He's come to appreciate the beauty in difference - black, white, human and demon, each have their place in his world and he wonders for a moment how he will fit back into the world his family has created.

When the latest crisis is over, he's promised himself a vacation. Not a trip, not an adventure, but a vacation - a chance to relax and unwind and take stock. He knows he'll have to slip away; that leaving so soon will cause comment and hurt and big Willow eyes. But he's learned to be strong in these last four years. He knows how to pick his battles and when to retreat. He imagines taking a slow boat through the Greek Islands, landing in hidden coves and stumbling over the broken stones of a history far older than his own. That's something Africa has taught him - to respect the passage of time. He's discovered a passion for myths and storytelling; for imagining the reality behind the tales. He closes his eyes for a moment and he's there, following in the footsteps of heroes, approaching the remnants of places which resonate in both history and myth - Sparta, Argos, Corinth; he can almost taste the dust in the air and hear the cry of battle echo through the centuries.

The sea swells suddenly and he's thrown forward through time. He's back on another boat, approaching the testament to another, more modern, struggle. The ferry chugs across the bay and the island seems so close, and the city and the sounds of civilisation and his dreams of lazy days are on another planet. The ferry is crowded with tourists and guides and an odd assortment of individuals like himself - there for their own private reasons and their own personal pilgrimage. There's a raucous laugh on the top deck near the prow and he looks up and sees the most beautiful girl - tall, brunette, with creamy skin and elegant clothes. Shades tucked artfully into her hair at just the right angle. She has her court of wanabees and her coterie of admirers. None look a day over seventeen, and they look like they've never had to struggle for anything in their short, golden lives. His mind rolls back and he realises that there's a reason Cordy was an icon in Sunnydale. She belonged to that special clan that glows like the sun and attracts followers like a flame. And here, half way around the world, her legacy continues and he can't help but smile. He'd like to think that they know what they're coming to see. That they'll understand the history and the hate and the heroism, but he gets the feeling that it's just another chance to miss some school. Just another trip to the zoo.

He realises that he's been watching the children for the longest time and the change in the engines brings him back to reality. A sharp outcrop of rock and bare bleak landscape confirms the destination and he gathers his courage and his pack.

The engines still and the passengers depart. Counted out to ensure no one is left behind on the way back. As if anyone would miss the boat to leave this place.

He stands on the edge of the island and looks back over eight scant miles of water. He knows he has to be a tourist. He has to sit on the prison bus and go to the chalk quarry and walk through the cells like everyone else. He has to take his pictures and take them home, and try to make his family understand the enormity of what happened here. Of the scale and the hurt and the history and the hatred of men for other men. But that's for later. For now, it's enough to stand on the shore of Robben Island and look back.

Eight small miles of water to the mainland and freedom. Eight small miles to self-styled civilisation. He stares across the water and the landscape holds him spell bound. Politics and power; men and their manipulations, will rise and fall - history and myth and legend and storytelling are testament to that. But Table Mountain and the Lions Head and Africa will still be there at the end. After everything. It's such a small thing, but in his mind the scale of the thought is staggering and it's enough to carry with him on the long journey home.

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing katekat1010 created the most beautiful movie poster for this story. You can pet it over at my LJ right [here...](http://sparrow2000.livejournal.com/36608.html)


End file.
